Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,32

at her now empty fingers.

“Miss Beck?” Soran said, moving in behind her. “Miss Beck, are you—”

She started to turn to him. A moan slipped from her lips, and her knees gave out. Soran was only just quick enough to catch her before she could fall to the ground and strike her head.

With a muttered curse, Soran scooped her up, one arm behind her knees, the other around her shoulders. What a fool he was! In his eagerness to see what she might accomplish, he’d neglected to think of the physical consequences. She was unpracticed, had built up no tolerance for magic-casting. A healing spell took a great deal of energy, especially when used on a lifeless substance like stone. He shouldn’t have been so careless, so reckless.

“Miss Beck, can you hear me?” he said, peering down into her face against his shoulder. She was out cold. Was she even breathing?

Panic flooding his veins, Soran turned and strode back along the path as fast as he could go. She made for an awkward burden with all her skirts and the folds of her cloak, but at least she was small. He staggered to the lighthouse door, hastily muttered the spell to open the latch, and kicked it open, slamming it so hard against the wall that the wyvern squawked and shot out of its basket bed, scrambling up the fireplace stones to perch on the mantel. There it flapped its good wing and rattled its tongue in a prolonged hiss.

Ignoring the beast, Soran carried the girl to the alcove and laid her down on the bed as gently as he could. Her lips looked blue! At least it was warm in here, out of that wind.

Rising, he hastened to the fire and added a log to the embers, hastily stoking the blaze to life. The wyvern, crest flared in concern, crawled down the fireplace stones and waddled to the alcove. It burbled and snorted and nuzzled the girl’s face.

“I know. I know!” Soran growled as he grabbed the copper kettle and filled it with fresh water from the basin. “I shouldn’t have let her do it. But you should have seen her! By the gods, you should have seen her at work!”

He put the kettle on to boil and returned to the girl’s side, nudging the wyvern roughly out of the way. She lay very still, but her chest rose and fell with steady breathing. She might have been in deep sleep. And little wonder. She must be utterly exhausted.

The room seemed uncomfortably warm now, so Soran undid the clasp of her cloak at her throat and carefully peeled the heavy garment away. Her skin looked pale above the neckline of her lavender gown, but her cheeks and lips were pink.

“She’ll be all right,” Soran whispered. The wyvern popped its head up by his shoulder and chortled in his ear. “She’ll be all right,” he repeated firmly. Without quite realizing what he did, he reached out and took hold of one of her hands. He couldn’t feel her skin through the nilarium. And yet . . .

He looked down with some surprise. Though she was still unconscious, her fingers moved, interlacing with his.

For some while he could only sit there, staring. Staring at that connection unlike anything he’d felt in . . . in such a long while. It almost didn’t seem real. He felt like an outside observer watching this moment take place between two strangers. Only, that cursed hand must belong to him. So it must be true.

A sudden sputter on the hearth drew his attention. He turned and saw the kettle boil over, spitting water out into the fire.

Dropping Nelle’s hand was almost physically painful. But it was for the best. He couldn’t allow himself to indulge in moments like that. He clenched his teeth hard as he moved to pull the kettle from over the fire, taking no care to protect his hands from the hot handle as it made no difference. Finding a package of tea Nelle had brought from Dornrise, he busied himself spooning leaves into the hot water to brew.

“Oi! Get off me.”

Soran spun round quickly, just in time to see the girl sit up and push at the wyvern, which had taken advantage of Soran’s absence to curl up on her stomach. It protested with noisy hisses and flapped its good wing, but she caught it by the tail and flung it out of the alcove onto the floor. She sat up as